


Hope for Now.

by Frankieteardrop



Series: Songfics from my iTunes. [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankieteardrop/pseuds/Frankieteardrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U5urd6Nziw">Hope for Now by City and Colour</a></p><p>  <i>"How can I instill such hope, but be left with none of my own?</i><br/><i>What if I could sing just one song and it might save somebody's life"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope for Now.

There is a difference between feeling sad and feeling depressed. This is something Till Lindemann knows all too well. He understands the difference; sadness comes and goes, but depression is a fucker that's like a slow ebb. It lurks in the background for a while. And you're aware that it's there. You're aware that the eternal void is waiting for you to take two steps backwards and fall into the darkness. He's aware that sometimes you can feel as high as a kite and everything will feel like it's finally falling into place. But that's the thing about that bastard, depression; it lulls you into a false sense of security that things are getting better, and then bam! Something, no matter how small or how minor a set back can sink you further into that darkness than you'd ever really thought it would. And what's worse is the fucked up emotions you experience while depressed. The sheer apathy you develop to pretty much everything in your life. You forget how to be a human. Yes, Till Lindemann was all too aware of this.

It had reached boiling point for Till. He just couldn’t handle it anymore. He was prone to these down days, or weeks as they seemed to be at the moment. He struggled through them mostly, but at the moment, he was struggling a little too much. And It was overwhelming. He felt as though he was drowning in his feelings and he couldn’t write them down because every time he tried to put pen to paper the words deserted him. He struggled to talk about them anyway, but this problem was only heightened by this writers block that decided now was the perfect time to settle into his frontal lobe and cut off all ability he once had to express himself. He’d now just become a heap of grunts and sighs. What was he to do?

And as he looked around at his band, eyes lingering on his lover, Richard, sitting around a table amicably eating a meal together, that overwhelming urge of he didn’t know what came flooding over him. He observed them each; Richard chatting about guitars and some other rubbish with Paul, both of them talking over each other with their mouths full of pasta or bread, laughing at nothing, and at one point he was certain Paul was talking and drinking wine at the same time; Ollie, Schneider and Flake deep in a quiet conversation. Knowing the three of them it was probably something vaguely political that they really weren’t interested in having the loud mouths next to them join in on. But still, Till felt empty and unable to join any merriment. He felt soulless. 

He always admired the five men sitting in front of him. He was aware that they all had their crosses to bear and the things that had had to deal with throughout their time together as a band. He knew they all struggled through with varying degrees of nasty divorces and splits in relationships, continual custody battles and the loneliness that comes along with being on tour constantly for two years at a time. Till was no stranger to this feeling anyway. He knew this. He’d not seen his eldest daughter now for the best part of six months, and phone calls just weren’t cutting it anymore. But each one of them had turned to the group and had relied on their friends to get them through their troubles. But now that it was Till’s turn, that just wasn’t his style. He had always, really, dealt with his problems on his own, watching them support him in silence. And while he was very close with Richard, he still couldn’t bring himself to dump everything in his brain onto the man.

But this time was different. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about any of this. And while he usually wore his heart on his sleeve, he was getting better at masking his feelings. He was getting better at hiding what was paining him most.

“Till, are you okay?” a voice dragged him back to reality. 

He looked up at Schneider, feeling the weight and warmth of his hand on his shoulder, and then he noticed four other pairs of eyes on him. 

“Oh, yeah… Sorry.” He stuttered out, “I’m not feeling great…” He said softly, pulling out his wallet. He threw some money down on the table and pushed his chair back, “Sorry guys, I’m gonna head home.” He smiled sadly. “I’ll talk to you a bit later…” he smiled, turning on his heels. He left them there, heading out the door and towards home. 

The truth was that Till Lindemann had been suffering a lot more than he’d let even himself believe. 

As he left the restaurant, he prayed for a quick escape with no one following him so he could get home and relax. But as God wasn't shining favourably on him right now, he was accosted by a group of girls who’d waited patiently for one, or all, members of Rammstein to leave so they could greet them. Till felt sick to his stomach. They’d purposely chosen this tiny, arse-hole of nowhere town with the smallest restaurants in it, and they were still found. He groaned softly, looking down at the four girls who stood in front of him. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Lindemann. We just… We really wanted to meet you!” one girl beamed up at him, and he could see her gripping a small notepad and a pen. He held out his hands and took them from her, signing the papers the four of them held, and took photos with them, despite the fact he didn’t really look happy in any of them, but they just assumed that was his face and were delighted that he was there. Finally, when he thought he was done, one of the girls came up to him and held out a well-read copy of _In Stillen Nachten_ and smiled up at him. “I… I’ve read this a thousand times over…” she said softly, and he flipped through the book, seeing her annotations and translations. “It just means so much to me…” She confessed, holding out a pen, “If you wouldn’t mind, can you sign it for me?!” she asked, “It just… Reading through this helped me deal with some horrible personal issues in my life, you know?” She laughed nervously, and Till couldn’t help but stare at this young girl. He couldn’t help but question how the ramblings of his mind could have helped anyone. “It’s a bold statement, Mr Lindemann, but t-these poems instilled so much hope into me. T-they saved my life…” She smiled shyly. Till stopped signing, looking up at her. 

“I’m glad you found the meaning you needed within these words…” Till smiled, pulling her into a hug. “And thank you for telling me.” He let go of her, leaving her standing in the street and he turned to walk away, getting into his car. He sat for the longest time, head rested against the steering wheel. Till knew he couldn’t face this bout of depression alone, but he didn’t feel like he could burden his friends with these problems. He didn’t know who to turn to. And while he’d been dealing with depression for what felt like his entire life, he felt like this was the worst it had been.

He jumped, hearing a wrapping on the window of the passenger’s window, and stared at the face looking in. It was Richard, and he frowned, pulling the passenger’s door open. 

“I was worried, and hoped you were still here…” He said softly, pulling the door closed. 

“Richard I’m about to drive home. Aren’t you heading back with Paul, or Flake, or something?” Till asked, looking disgruntled, his heart still beating way faster than it should. 

“No. Take me home with you.” He said quietly, reaching over for his hand. “I’m going to stay with you tonight.” Richard looked over, smiling sadly. “Come on. Let’s get home.” 

The older man was in no mood to argue, and did as he was told, driving the pair back to his home. They stayed in an uncomfortable silence on the journey home. Till couldn’t bring himself to look at Richard; he knew Richard was aware that something was wrong, but he wasn’t going to vomit his inner monologue to him anytime soon. Till had always been quiet with his emotions though, preferring to put them into poetry, rather than divulging everything to someone. The pent up aggression and depression and angst often gave a beautiful boost to creativity. But not this time. He was envious of how free Richard could be with how he felt, telling anyone who’d listen that he was having a bad day. But Till just couldn’t do that.

They pulled up at the house and sat there for a while in silence. Till could feel Richard’s gaze on him, feel his eyes burning into the side of his head. “If you stare long enough you might be able to read my thoughts.” Till said quietly, reaching for the handle, 

“You look like someone’s just died.” Richard said softly, “What’s the matter? What’s caused all this?”

“Nothing. I’m fine, Richard. Really.” He Lied, getting out of the car. “I just want to get into bed, I’m really tired, okay?” he called back to Richard, locking the car as the other got out. He let himself into the house and ignored the shouts coming at him from behind, walking straight for the office. “I’ll be in here for a little while first, though. Okay? I need to write some stuff down.” He didn’t make eye contact with Richard, but he looked back at least, closing the door behind him. He sat himself into his worn office chair at his desk and looked down at the mass of papers and books which sat in piles around the worn wooden top. He sighed softly, picking up a blank piece of paper and attempted to write something. He wracked he brain searching for words which would adequately express how he felt, but there was none. But there was only one word that sprang to mind.

_Hopeless_

He scribbled that word over and over onto countless pieces of paper, scrubbing them out and re-writing them. And then he thought of the girl with his book, all thumbed through and worn to the bone; spine broken and pages dog-eared. Till had looked into her eyes and seen such an immense amount of hope and love and admiration that he was at a complete loss. How is it that someone who managed to save someone’s life with their words cannot save any for themselves? He’d explored every avenue to make himself feel better; more human, less empty. He’d tried everything, and yet, nothing really filled that void that sat inside him, eating his emotions and spitting out nothing but bile and bitterness. All those feelings of inadequacy came flooding back into the forefront of his mind, blotting out and drowning any positive thought that might possibly cling for life. And there was no end to the timeline of misery that his brain seemed to vomit up whenever he was feeling even slightly not happy.

There was a knock at the door that broke the silence and his train of thought. “Till, I’m going up to bed. Don’t sleep down here again please.”

He heard the footsteps travelling away from the door and he felt such guilt in the pit of his stomach. He knew he was self-absorbed when he was like this, and it just made him hate himself further. And he knew that he needed to speak with Richard, even just to tell him the basics. He knew what this silence did to the other man – they’d had countless arguments about it and yet Till never seemed to be able to open up any more afterwards than he had before. 

He slowly got to his feet and looked down at the paper he’d scribbled on and sighed, tearing it up. Things weren’t hopeless. It was only hopeless if he allowed it to be. He’d not explored every avenue yet, therefore there was still a little ray of hope.

He left the office, closing and locking the door behind him. As he ventured up the stairs, he could hear Richard in the bathroom getting himself ready for bed. Till stood in the doorway and looked over his lover, watching him brush his teeth. He slowly moved forward before the other man could say anything with a mouth full of toothpaste and he wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into the nape of Richard’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin penetrating through his clothes. He said nothing, just held the other man from behind, taking him in. Everything about Richard was so familiar, so welcoming. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, slowly turning in Till’s arms, frowning softly. Every touch that Richard gave was gentle and thoughtful. He gently brushed the hair from Till’s face and cupped his cheeks, kissing his lips softly, “Do you just want to lie down with me? We don’t have to talk about anything, just lie together…” he said softly, gently kissing the corner of Till’s lips. Till nodded in confirmation, and Richard wasted no time, taking his lover’s hand and lead him to the bedroom. 

The two men crawled into bed, Richard lying down to allow Till to crawl on top of him. Till rested his head against Richard’s chest, listening to the sounds of his lover’s heart beat in his ear. He closed his eyes, taking in the sound, trying to coordinate his breathing with the beating in his ear. Richard’s heartbeat was always so strong, like horses galloping. It soothed and calmed Till’s aching head. The feel of Richard’s fingers running through his hair soothed all aches and pains and calmed all nerves in his body.

“Do you want anything?” Richard broke the silence. “There’s some cake in the fridge?” He offered. Till shook his head. 

“No. No I don’t want anything…” He said softly, looking up at his beloved. “I just want to stay here…” He pressed a kiss against Richard’s chest, burying his face there. 

“Okay.” Till felt a kiss pressed against the back of his head and he could feel the weight of his terrible feelings being lifted from him already. 

“Thank you…” He said softly, kissing him softly. 

“What for?”

“For not pushing me…” He sighed, moving to sit up. “I feel like I’m just travelling down a road and its dark and empty and there’s nothing there. A-and everything just feels hopeless.” Till opened up. 

Richard stared at him with wide eyes, smiling sadly. “Yeah?” he said softly.

“These girls came up to me when I tried to leave the restaurant and one of the girls got me to sign my book of poetry for her and she’d annotated it and shit and she told me it had saved her life…” He said softly, “B-but when everything just feels hopeless still.” Till confessed, looking over his love. “I just didn’t really know how to respond so I said thank you and ran away…” He laughed then, at himself more than anything.

“She’s not alone in those feelings.” Richard admitted and slowly leaned in to kiss him. “I love you, Till.” Richard said softly.

“I love you too…”

The two men curled up together under the sheets and lay in blissful silence for the evening. Till finally felt like things were picking up.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really unhappy with this for no reason.
> 
> I think this is a really beautiful song but I was a bit stuck on what to do with it...  
> So actually this is hella depressing... I'm terribly sorry.
> 
> The next one will be super cutesie! For realsies!


End file.
